


Of Agents and Assassins

by Lethal_Interjection



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Sam Wilson, Bisexual Wade Wilson, Double Agents, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gay Peter Parker, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, SHIELD, Sexual Harassment, Sleeping with the enemy, Spy Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lethal_Interjection/pseuds/Lethal_Interjection
Summary: Sam and Bucky have fallen for one another. Problem is, they're on opposite sides of an invisible war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What do you do when you should be working your current multi-chapter fic?
> 
> Start another fic!
> 
> This is my first AU. Hopefully the first of many.
> 
> So far, this is rated Mature for language only (I like to curse), but the spirit may move me to write some smut. If so, I'll change the rating.

Bucky splashed some cold water on his face and stared in the mirror as he awaited the inevitable click of the bedroom door. Sam was sure to leave soon—he always left—and Bucky didn’t want to be in the room when he did.

They didn’t do the whole _overnight thing,_ or that _talking thing_ that usually went hand in hand with the overnight thing.

On a basic level, they were using each other. It’s what they had agreed upon. One would reach out, if the other was available, they’d smash. That’s it. That’s all.

He closed his eyes, concentrating hard on the sounds outside the bathroom door, the click that never came.

Sam couldn’t have possibly snuck out without Bucky hearing something. He wasn’t all that stealthy after all.

Maybe he’d fallen asleep, like that time in Morocco, after a mission that required him to shoot Sam’s plane down. He’d deliberately missed 100% of his shots, of course. _“The fuck is wrong with you, Barnes? You half Stormtrooper today?”_ Rumlow had barked, before snatching the rifle away and setting up his shot. Bucky’s heart had stopped at the sight of Sam’s jet exploding until he glanced a stealth-chute in the distance.

He’d receive a text a few hours later from a blocked number with a hotel name and room number.

“You owe me a plane,” Sam had smiled when he opened the door and Bucky immediately pushed him inside the room. 

He all but leaped into Sam’s mouth and that was all it took. He was in trouble. 

That was the first night they kissed. Before that, it was strictly prep and fuck or a speedy yet expertly executed blow job. This night was different. Besides the kiss, Bucky had let Sam fuck him that night—or rather, begged Sam to fuck him—though their dalliances usually went the other way around.

They’d fallen asleep together that night following a 2-hour edge-fest that culminated in a life-affirming orgasm and Sam murmuring his name like the holiest of prayers.

Bucky grabbed a washcloth and wet it with warm water. If Sam was still out there, the least he could do was clean himself off the man’s cock. He took one more gander at his reflection before returning to the room.

There, he found one Sam Wilson, sitting up against his headboard. Casual scrolling through—_is that Pinterest?_

“Here,” Bucky said as he tossed the washcloth in Sam’s direction. He caught it and muttered his thanks.

Bucky plopped down on the bed as Sam slid off and proceeded to wipe his cock and surrounding areas.

Sam was facing away from him and Bucky had the pleasure of watching his ample derrière tense and lax under his movements.

Bucky swallowed all the extra spit his salivary glands produced at the sight. Sam’s ass was made for eating. 

Unfortunately, they’d never done that before and, again, they didn’t talk about whatever this was between them, much less their kinks.

Sam reached out to hand him the rag and Bucky gestured with a nod for Sam to toss it anywhere. He’d take care of it in the morning.

In a surprising turn of events, Sam didn’t attempt to find his clothes and instead, returned to his spot on the king-sized mattress.

_This is new._

Bucky got the remote from his bedside table and clicked the TV on. The silence was killing him.

“You stayin’?” He asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Top Chef.

“Nah. I’ll leave soon,” Sam answered, leaning back on the headboard. 

_Say it, Buck. Ask him to stay._

“Y’know, you could stay... if you want,” he finished with a shrug to keep in casual. The last thing he wanted to do was come across thirsty.

“I—” Sam’s response was cut off by a text alert from his phone. He read it and sighed as he typed his reply. “I got another hour,” he muttered. “Sun’s comin’ up soon anyway,” he added as if that had anything to do with the price of tea in China.

“Oh ok, cool,” Bucky shrugged again. 

Sam probably had some gorgeous boyfriend (or girlfriend) waiting at home, worried sick. He or she already had to put up with his SHEILD missions, cheating was just cruel.

That notion was quickly dashed. Sam was too squeaky-clean for that. He probably never even cheated on a test in school. He’d probably been one of those rare jocks who was also brilliant and involved in every extracurricular activity.

“I’m not rushin’ to get home to somebody if that’s what you’re thinking,” Sam said as of reading his thoughts.

“I wasn’t,” Bucky lied easily.

“Did you want me to stay?” Sam asked. 

Bucky felt a flutter in his chest at the hopeful tone of his voice but he kept a level head. “If you want,” he replied nonchalantly. 

He felt the mattress shift and sink as Sam crawled up behind him. Bucky steadied his breathing. 

“Do you _want_?” He asked, voice thick with longing. 

Sam kissed his shoulder and Bucky sucked in a ragged breath. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“But do you _want_ me to?” Sam purred in his ear.

Before he could answer, Sam sank his teeth into the tender crook of his neck and Bucky let out a whimper from the depths of his soul.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded as Sam continued to kiss and suck the area.

“I got a thing,” said Sam. “I can come back after... if you’ll still have me.”

Bucky turned to face him. _I’ll have you whenever, wherever, doll,_ he wanted to say but that was too much like sweet.

“Like spend the day together?” He asked.

“Why not?” Sam shrugged easily.

“Maybe ‘cause we can’t be seen together.”

It was the truth. His crew would shit a brick if they caught him with a SHEILD agent. Pierce would put out a kill-order out and they’d take each other out just to get to him. _Fucking assassins._

Sam’s lip curled roguishly “Who says we gotta leave the apartment?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't be sorry, Sam. _Be careful._"

Sam’s suggestion had earned him a 69 with the world’s hottest assassin, which was new for them. Coming in the mouth of a gorgeous man as he returned the favor always helped to clear the mind and Sam was going to need a clear mind for this crack-of-dawn briefing at headquarters. 

The text from Clint was simple: _Briefing today, 0630. Mission tomorrow, 0400._

_At least it’s not today,_ Sam thought. He was looking forward to the end of the meeting so he could spend his day with Bucky. Which was also new.

They had never spent more than a couple of hours together. Except for that one time in Morocco. In his defense, he was exhausted. Two broken ribs will do that.

In the beginning, they were so careful; disguises, hotels, and they only met up at night. Recently, though, they’d become admittedly sloppy. After Morocco, they began meeting up at their private residences, disregarding both disguises and the cover of night. It was a wonder they hadn’t been caught yet.

Well, not really a _wonder._ Sam may have been getting a little careless, but he wasn’t dumb. SHIELD had someone on the inside of Bucky’s little ragtag team of assassins and mercenaries and she was watching his back, much to her dismay.

After a goodbye kiss and a promise of many more orgasms, Sam put his hood up and walked, not too fast but purposefully, to the nearest stairwell. He couldn’t risk being a sitting duck in the elevator, even if Bucky did live on the 20th floor. 

He trotted down the million stairs, past the camera he’d disabled upon arrival, through the emergency exit, and out to the alley where his car was parked. As soon as the door closed behind him, someone emerged from the shadows and Sam immediately drew his .45.

“Early morning booty call?” a familiar female voice said.

“Christ, Nat. I coulda shot you,” Sam griped.

“You could’ve tried,” Natasha muttered. 

When she stepped further into the light he saw she’d cut her hair into a long, sleek bob. The platinum blonde was started to grow out, revealing her fiery roots. She wore her trademark bodysuit, complete with widow emblem belt, and electro-batons strapped to her back. Mission ready. 

She looked tired though, Sam noted. Undercover work seemed to be taking its toll.

“What’s up girl? You got somethin’ for me?”

“Yeah. Here,” she said, handing him a thumb drive. “For the briefing.”

Sam smiled as he looked down at the drive in his palm. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an angel?”

“Only Clint. How is he?” She asked, softening. 

“Missing you,” said Sam. “He’s driving us all a little crazy to be honest. Why don’t you guys just meet up somewhere?”

Natasha sighed, gazing wistfully upward. “We can’t all be as reckless as you and lover boy. I prefer to keep myself and my husband alive thank you very much.”

Sam knew he deserved that. He and Bucky had been extremely reckless as of late.

“You don’t even wear a veil anymore,” she mused, referring to SHIELD’s proprietary disguise veil that holographically changed the facial appearance of its wearer. 

It was easy enough to get a couple of veils, so why had he stopped using them when he went to meet up with Bucky?

“You got a death wish, Sam?”

He chewed his lip, there was no excuse for his carelessness. No dick was worth his life. Not even Bucky’s.

“Any one of those fuckers would kill you and him without a second thought,” she continued, “Except maybe Wade. He’d let you both slide for a pair of Peter’s used panties.”

“Gross,” Sam chuckled. “He’s got it bad.”

_“His_ situation is understandable. They were engaged before Peter became an agent,” Natasha pointed out. “If his dumb ass hadn’t tried to keep his occupation a secret—”

“And you say I’m reckless,” Sam smiled, trying and failing to lighten the mood. 

“You _are_ reckless, Sam. Wade Wilson is a few tacos short of a combination platter, and he has an excuse. _That was his fiancé._ What you and Barnes are doing is—” she trailed off. “You’re supposed to be a top SHIELD agent, which would imply that you have common sense. _This,_ Sam,” she pointed up at the apartment building, “_this_ is not sensible. It’s actually pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Sam cast his eyes downward to his boots, feeling sufficiently reprimanded. Natasha would put his own momma to shame. She was a friend and the best damn SHIELD agent he’d ever met. Even though he respected her opinion, he wasn’t sure he could stop whatever was going on between him a Bucky. It was quite possible that he was already in too deep. “You’re right, Nat. I’m sorry. I’ll get a veil from Parker.”

“Don’t be sorry, Sam. Be _careful.”_

A brief silence fell over them, then Nat sighed. “You coming back here tonight?” she asked wearily. 

“After the briefing,” he muttered.

Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled him in for a hug. “Tell my husband I love him, and I miss him, ok.”

Sam nodded and she pulled away. 

“Take care of yourself, Sam. I’ll see you soon,” she promised before returning to the shadows from whence she came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be meeting SHIELD and STRIKE in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's meet the players.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter is very much a grown-up in this fic, though he is the youngest agent. We'll say 24-25 years old.

“Nice of you to join us, Wilson,” Hill remarked as he tried to sneak into the conference room from the back entrance. He was only 5 minutes late and, technically, it was Natasha’s fault anyway.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said to the room as he made his way to the front to give her the thumb drive. 

“From Romanoff?” she whispered. Sam nodded. 

He took a seat next to his Field Commander and mentor Jim Rhodes, senior agent, and badass pilot. 

“Alright everyone,” Hill regarded the room. “We now have dossiers on all the STRIKE assassins, care of our woman on the inside.”

“You saw Nat?” Clint whispered from across the table.

Sam was about to answer, but Hill spoke over him, kicking off their briefing. 

“First up, Brock Rumlow, codename Crossbones. Field Commander. Ex-Green Barret, expert sniper, also trained in Jujitsu, Muay Thai, and Krav Maga.”

He wasn’t all that tall, but he had a certain presence about him. Dark hair, dark eyes, weathered skin, and a scowl so deep it had to be permanent. His body armor made him look bulkier than he probably was, but he was still sufficiently intimidating. 

Hill clicked to the next profile. “Wade Wilson, codename Deadpool.”

Peter cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Poor boy wore his emotions on his sleeve. Everyone was aware of his past relationship, but that probably didn’t make it any easier for Peter to see him lit up on a big ass projector screen.

“Wilson is prior Marines. From there, he became a mercenary for hire, and now he’s working for STRIKE as their weapons expert. He’s trained in just about every firearm known to man, but he prefers to get up close and personal with his katanas. He is _not_ subtle in the least, but he’s efficient as hell if you catch my meaning.”

Wilson was actually pretty attractive. Tall, blonde hair, hazel-brown eyes, and he was smiling in the picture which made him instantly more appealing. He had that whole _devil-may-care_ thing going for him too. The opposite of baby boy Peter, which is probably what he liked about Wilson.

“Next up, Erik Stevens, codename Killmonger.”

_Well, hello there,_ Erik was pretty easy on the eyes too. Were all assassins fine as fuck?

“Ex-Navy SEAL. Specializes in stealth ops, assassination, and anything involving a body of water. He’s also a pilot and an expert in hand-to-hand combat, specifically Krav Maga and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”

“Here we have Jessica Drew, Codename Spyder.”

Jessica was gorgeous, but she looked like she meant business. Her resting bitch face was enough to scare most junior agents off.

“She’s a HYDRA legacy kid, her mother died in a car accident and her father was killed in a SHIELD raid back in the 90s so she hates us by default.”

“Fun,” Carol groaned.

“Drew is known for her acrobatics. She’s their grease man, and she rarely uses guns but that’s only because she doesn’t have to. She’s trained in Muay Thai, Capoeira, Ninjitsu, and Eskrima.”

“Christ,” Valkyrie sighed.

“Some heavy hitters,” Rhodes commented.

“Yeah, and more to come,” Hill said as she clicked her remote.

The next picture popped up on the screen and Sam tried hard to school his face. There, in all his glory, was the man he’d fucked a couple of hours ago. 

“James “Bucky” Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier. Ex-Army, Green Berret. He’s an expert sniper, trained in boxing, Bacom, and Vale Tudo. He’s known for espionage, government destabilization, and assassination. This guys got a rap sheet a mile long and it’s got more heads of state than I’d care to discuss.”

Sam sighed. It was almost unbelievable the guy he was falling for was such a merciless killer. They never talked about work, now he remembered why.

“Last, but not least, Neena Thurman, aka Domino.”

Sam would just have to accept the fact that all these horrible people were also stupidly pretty. Neena was petite like Natasha with creamy, caramel skin and big, curly hair that could not have been conducive to stealth ops. Her body armor was barely containing all her curves and her smirk was so telling. 

“A Project Armageddon drop out but it seems Pierce found a use for her anyway. She and Wade go way back to the Marines but she was kicked out for slashing her Gunny Sergeant's face during an altercation. She’s a weapons expert; mainly large firearms, explosives, knives, swords, you name it, and also lacking in the subtlety department. She’s also trained in Pencak Silat.”

The projector screen turned off and Sam noticed Clint across the table. He looked pale like he’d seen a ghost. 

“These are the folks who’ve been working against us in the shadows. Thanks to Romanoff’s hard work, we now know who we’re looking for. Your mission tomorrow is simple, we’re doing security for the UN Conference in Geneva,” Hill explained. 

“According to Romanoff, STRIKE is planning to take out everyone in the building with some type of nerve gas bomb. Barton, Wilson, Parker, Valkyrie, you’re all going in as building security along with a few junior agents. Danvers and Rhodes, you’ll be outside in the truck running ops and keeping an eye out for our new friends. Parker, you’re on device duty, you find their delivery system and take it out.”

Peter nodded curtly at the order.

“When are we planning to get my wife out?” Clint asked Hill.

“Romanoff will be in undercover for the foreseeable future, Agent Barton. She volunteered, she knew the terms.”

_"THAT’S BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!”_ Clint hollered, slamming his hands on the table.

Carol went to reach for him but he batted her hand away.

“She didn’t know she would have to be out there with these monsters,” Clint continued, on the edge of tears. This time, when Carol reached for him, he let her touch his shoulder. 

“Clint,” Jim tried.

“She was supposed to be at headquarters with Pierce, getting close to him, not in the field. Not… killing again. She left that life when she came here when she left the Red Room. And you fuckers put her right back in the life without a second fucking thought!”

Carol rubbed his back as Val watched from her side with a somber look. Peter had looked away, understandably so. Sam could attest that seeing a senior agent cry was like seeing your dad cry. Too much to take in. Jim was looking down at the table. Hill though, she was about as expressive as a Sphinx. Stone-faced killer. Nick Fury’s protégé through and through.

Natasha’s husband was right about one thing, she was not ok. She hadn’t looked like herself earlier that morning. She was even back to wearing her old uniform and growing her color out despite the fact that she’d dyed it blonde to escape the Black Widow. Sam didn’t know if it was a good idea to tell Clint all that though. 

“Clint,” Hill tried, “she’s there for a reason. Three months ago, we had nothing on these guys. Now, we have full profiles. This is working.”

_C’mon, Hill._ Always the mission. The man was falling apart in front of her and she was trying to win him over with mission stats.

“Is she gonna be there? In Geneva?” Clint asked. 

“We don’t know if—”

Clint pushed away from the table with a curse and stormed out, James went after him.

“Danvers, you’re in for Barton. He’s not going on this mission,” Hill said flatly.

“That’s not enough people for this op,” Sam pointed out. 

He’d decided the second Clint left, that he was gonna get him in a room with his wife during this mission. It was clear he was unraveling and the last thing they needed was for him to go rouge and blow her cover. They’d both be killed.

“Coulson will go,” Hill stated.

“Coulson isn’t a sniper,” Val spoke up.

“Carol will take his place on the inside and Coulson will be in the truck with Rhodes.”

“I’m not a sniper either.”

“Goddamn it!” Hill barked, slamming a tall stack of files on her podium. “What would you have me do?”

“Get her out,” Peter suggested frostily, still not meeting anyone's eyes. “That’s his _wife,_” he added, eyes shining with uncried tears. 

There was a long stretch of silence before Hill spoke again. “I’ll see what Fury says,” she muttered before marching out, leaving Sam, Peter, Carol, and Val.

“We’re getting’ her out,” Sam proclaimed. “Tomorrow. We’re bringing her home.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

Fury could be a cold bastard when he wanted to, but it wasn’t like he’d turn her around if they brought her back without exposing themselves.

“We could take her as a hostage. Peirce and Rumlow won’t negotiate for her,” Carol suggested.

“I’ll try to get in contact with her,” Sam offered, standing.

Peter stood up next and escaped the room before anyone could ask if he was ok.

Val asked if Sam wanted to join she and Carol for breakfast but he declined.

“Nah, thank you though. I just have a… thing,” he replied. He was so bad at lying to people he cared about.

Both of them just stared at him and Val said, “… ok then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Carol called as he dashed from the room.

Sam had wanted to check on Peter, but he was nowhere to be found. He could hear Clint sobbing in Jim’s office as he passed by on his way to the elevator. Hopefully, Natasha would text him today so he could tell her his plan. Knowing her, she’d be against it. Sam would have to use Clint as leverage and he didn’t feel bad about it at all. This was a noble cause.

He sat in his car for a while, thinking about the briefing and everything he’d heard about STRIKE. About Bucky. How could a man who looked at him the way Bucky did, be such a died in the wool killer? A terrorist. 

He picked up his phone and typed a message to Clint; _She wanted me to tell you that she loves and misses you._

A simple _Thank you_ was his reply. He was probably still in Jim's office.

He shot Jim a text, _We need to get her out._ He knew Jim wouldn't answer if he was still with Clint.

Sam held his phone, thumbs itching to text Bucky. To tell him that he couldn’t make it. That he couldn’t do this anymore. That this had to end. It was the right thing to do. 

The Winter Soldier was a monster… but Bucky wasn’t a bad guy. He couldn’t be. Sam would never be able to justify this if anyone at SHIELD ever found out. At best, he’d be excommunicated. At worst, imprisoned. There was no way he could prove that he never gave Bucky any intel. 

He dragged a hand down his face and started the car. If this was about to end, he was going to end it in person.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is missing Clint and her SHIELD family, but efore she has time to lament her situation, she gets pulled into a STRIKE mission.

Natasha feels dead on her feet by the time she reaches her sparse little Newark apartment. It’s not near as warm and inviting as the Brooklyn brownstone she shared with Clint and their Russian Blue cats, Yelena and Alexi. She smiles to herself, imagining her husband and kitties snuggled up on their couch after his briefing.

How she longed to be safe in her own home again. She’s been slipping lately. Exhaustion is making her sloppy and at any moment, Pierce or Rumlow could catch on to her ruse and eviscerate her without warning. 

Natalia Alianovna Romanova never would have feared them, but Natasha Barton does. She has too much to lose now. Clint, her friends, the father she’d found in Fury, she would not be responsible for their demise. And she would not make them suffer through hers.

Natasha rubs at the back of her neck where the control chip had been inserted. It’s still hard and foreign under skin. Like a tumor. Pierce had it installed a few days after her arrival at STRIKE headquarters. Initially, she’d thought it was because they didn’t trust her story; bored with the whole good-guy routine, divorcing Clint, etc. but it turned out, they’d been using the chips to control everyone on STRIKE from the beginning. Why else would they all go along with the terrible things they were doing. It made a sense. None of them were necessarily bad people, but they were practically acting as international terrorists.

She’d found out later, from Wade’s big mouth that it was actually a pressurized explosive that would literally blow their brains out if they tried to defect or remove it. The chip also has a charming electroshock feature, used primarily as disciplinary action. Natasha hasn’t personally had the pleasure, but she had witnessed Rumlow use it on both Bucky and Jessica for disobeying direct orders.

She had been on her way home from a mission in Berlin when she spotted Sam’s annoyingly conspicuous, red Audi R8 behind Barnes’ apartment building. 

_He cannot be this stupid,_ she’d thought at the time. Turns out, he was. Stupid in lust, at least. 

Though she had outwardly scolded him for his carelessness, secretly, she is jealous of his boldness. This life is a lonely one and to find someone who really gets that is rare. She was lucky enough to have found that Clint.

_Poor Clint,_ Sam had said he was driving them all crazy and she knows her husband well enough to know that means he’s suffering. He’s not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve under regular circumstances. It’s part of the reason she stays away and only makes contact through Sam. If she were in the same room as Clint her resolve would surely crumble, and his as well.

Her mission phone beeps just as she kicks her boots off. It’s a message from Rumlow.

_Conference call 5 mins_

“What the fuck,” she mutters to herself. They’d already had received their mission dossiers for tomorrow. What more could these fuckers have to say?

She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before setting up her laptop on the kitchen counter to wait for the call. It comes exactly 4.5 minutes later.

One by one, her _teammates_ faces pop up on screen in little boxes surrounding a slightly larger one that houses Rumlow’s ugly mug. They all look spent too. Well, everyone except Wade whose grinning ear-to-ear whilst devouring a glass mixing bowl of Lucky Charms. Sometimes she wonders what Peter ever saw in him.

“I feel like I’m in the Brady Bunch here. Oooh, can we sing the theme song?” he ___, far too energized for the early morning hour.

“Stick a cock in it, Wade,” Neena yawned, echoing Natasha’s sentiment.

“Don’t you mean a _cork,_ Domino?”

“I said what I said!”

“Listen up!” Rumlow hollers over the arguing. “We got a tip SHEILD is gonna be in the building tomorrow.”

Natasha’s eyes dart to Barnes in the top left corner. He has one hell of a poker face, she’ll give him that. 

Sam would never hand him intel, no matter how good the sex is but it’s not unreasonable to think Barnes is pulling a honey pot on him. Oldest spy tactic in the book.

“So, you know what that means,” their field commander continued, “I’m adding Barnes and Romanova to this mission. Barnes will be stationed on the roof across the street and Romanova, you’ll be—”

“I thought I was sitting this one out,” Barnes griped. A week ago, Rumlow had told him—in front of everyone—that his mission in Sokovia would be his last for a month. Now, it seems, he was reneging on that agreement.

Everyone knows that James Barnes is no pussy, but he rarely speaks up when it come to Brock Rumlow. Understandable, she supposes, given their _complicated_ history. She wonders if Sam knows about his lover’s past. Probably not.

“Shut the hell up before I give you somethin’ to do with that mouth of yours,” Rumlow barks. 

Barnes rolls his eyes, but says nothing. 

Wade hollers, “Burn!” and Jessica threatens him with bodily harm, as per usual. 

_Just a day in the life of STRIKE,_ Natasha thinks wearily. These people are fucking exhausting. 

_“As_ I was saying, Romanova, you got the vents.”

She _literally_ bites her tongue to keep from backtalking and nods curtly instead. No one wants to vent-duty, except maybe Jessica because _she’s the freakin’ grease man._ It’s the worst post, no matter the mission. Lying on your belly for hours in a dirty vent is not her idea of fun.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to put Widow on guard duty and Jess in the vents?” Erik asks, ever the logic. “Ain’t that like, her whole deal? No offense, Jess.”

_Yes!_ Natasha’s inner voice yelled.

“Yeah, I’ll do it, whatever,” Jessica volunteered, shrugging.

“You questionin’ me, Stevens?” Rumlow snaps.

“Nah, man. I’m just sayin’ Jessica is the acrobat or whatever so—” 

“You think you’re smarter than me? You wanna run this squad? Want me to tell Pierce you’re in charge now?”

“It ain’t fuckin’ rocket science!” Erik retorts sharply and everyone stills for several, silent moments. 

She does not want to watch Erik get electrocuted. Even through the phone, it would be too much. He isn’t the enemy, he’s a teammate with a valid grievance and, in a way, he is standing up for her.

“I’ll deal with you later, Stevens,” he threatens. “Go-time is moved up to 0400 now instead of 0600.”

Everyone erupts into bitches and moans at that, complaining that they’d just returned from other missions, that they’re tired, then there’s Wade; gleefully whistling the Brady Bunch theme song like a fucking ding dong.

_This is my life now._

“Hey. HEY!” Rumlow hollered and the quarrelling ceased. “After this mission, we got a good chunk of time off for you to go fuck off to wherever, but tomorrow I need you all on your ‘A’ game. ‘specially you, Barnes.”

The man in question looked confused and a little offended. “The fuck did I do?”

“Morocco,” Rumlow said, “you’re my sharpshooter and your shootin’ was shit.”

Barnes looks equal parts pissed-off and admonished. That was the mission that he was tasked with shooting down hostiles, which would have been fine if Sam hadn’t been one of those hostiles. She figures they’d met up afterwards in some seedy motel. Part of her thinks Barnes missed because he might actually have feelings for Sam, but the other part thinks maybe he just wanted to make sure his dick appointment was secure. Either way, Sam had lived to fight another day.

“Zamn, Zaddy!” Wade garbles through a mouthful of marshmallows.

“Fuck you, Wade,” Barnes sneers.

“Don’t think Rummy would like that, pretty boy.”

“We done here?” Jessica asks, annoyed. 

“Yeah, I just got back from Berlin and I need to get some fuckin’ sleep,” Neena complains.

“I’m done. Meet at the airfield 0400,” Rumlow replies and everyone ends their connection at once. 

Natasha sits there, staring at the blank screen for a moment. Clint will probably be there tomorrow. She’ll need to keep her distance, but that won’t happen if his ass is up in the vents too. If Sam is right about his current mental state, he’s liable to blow her cover and get them both killed. 

She’ll have to find a way to switch spots with Jessica without Rumlow finding out or get word to Sam to Jim can change their positions. She decides to buy a burner later to text him from if Jessica doesn’t agree.

But first, a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to give it a Suicide Squad angle, to make Bucky a little more tragic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow pays Bucky an unexpected visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for implied sexual harassment, sexual assault, and dubious consent. I've updated the tags accordingly. This is not explicit, by my personal standards but mileage varies.

To say he’s overjoyed when that conference call finally ends is an understatement. Bucky isn’t thrilled about the prospect of shooting (at) Sam again, but at least he doesn’t have to look at Rumlow’s face for another 20+ hours, so there’s that. 

Then, his phone rings. _Speak of the devil._

He stares at his phone for a couple seconds before pressing decline. Sam will be back soon and he needs to get started on breakfast. 

Bucky reaches out for the refrigerator door handle, only to crumble to the floor in excruciating pain as electricity violently courses through his body. He tries not to scream and struggles to reach around to the back of his neck where the device is held, knowing full well he’ll never be able to rip it out with his bare hands, but it doesn’t stop him from desperately scratching at the area.

The shockwave ceases in seconds and his phone begins to chime again. He crawls over to where it fell and answers just before the second ring this time.

“You ever think about sendin’ me to voicemail again, I’ll shock your ass ‘til you shit yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Bucky huffs, out of breath.

“Yes, what?” Rumlow prods.

“Yes… _Commander.”_

“Better. You home?”

“You know I’m home, Brock,” Bucky sneers as he grabs the counter to pull himself up. 

“Don’t be a brat. I’m ten minutes out.” He ends the call.

_Fuck._ What the hell is that bastard doing here? He’s supposed to be in Virginia. Not to mention Sam will be here soon. SHIELD HQ can’t be far from his condo. 

He decides to send Sam a text. Something short and vague about needing to run to the store for breakfast ingredients. Of course, Sam offers to go since he’s out, but that won’t work. Bucky needs to be able to control when Sam arrives so he insists and Sam eventually yields, telling him to send a text when he gets back home.

Bucky gets to work, cleaning and removing all signs that another man has been inside his residence. Brock doesn’t like to share. 

The knock on his doors comes eight minutes later, just as he finishes changing his sheets. He’s changed his clothes as well, just in case Sam’s smell is lingering. 

Truth be told, he really did like Rumlow when they’d dated back in the day. He was a completely different guy back then. Before all this STRIKE bullshit. 

Nowadays though, he’s so short-fused and violent. No doubt Pierce had a hand in that. He’s not the Brock Bucky remembers. Most days, he doesn’t even look like himself anymore.

Bucky opens the door, and tries for a look of neutral indifference. Rumlow enters without being invited in, pushing past him. 

“Like what you’ve done with the place,” he nods, looking around. 

“Thanks,” Bucky mutters. Nothing has changed since the last time he was here.

Brock removes his jacket and tosses it on the couch which makes Bucky cringe. He hates when people put their dirty ass “outside clothes” on his couch or bed. It’s a pet peeve. He gets completely changed to lounge around his own home, and he wishes Brock would respect that like Sam did. They’d laughed when Sam told him that his mother had the same rule in her home, but that she decided to cover her living room furniture in plastic in favor of constantly reminding folks. He’d kill for some plastic right about now. 

“Y’look good, Jay. Come’ere.” Only Rumlow calls him Jay. It’s what he used to call him when they were dating.

“Thanks,” he mutters again, walking over to where Brock is standing.

“Miss me?” the older man purrs as he drags Bucky the rest of the way, closing the distance between them.

“Yeah.”

“Liar.” Then, Brock is kissing him.

Bucky is moving his lips in some vague kissing motion and his eyes aren’t even closed. Brock hasn’t quit smoking like he’d promised and he tastes like an ashtray. Sam may notice the smell. 

He decides then that he needs to get Brock out ASAP. The quicker he leaves, the faster that cigarette smell will dissipate. Bucky knows what he has to do, though he’d rather do anything else. 

The sniper mentally prepares himself before unceremoniously shoving his hand under the waistband of the commander’s jeans.

“Mmm, so eager,” Brock growls and Bucky wants to puke as he takes the other man’s member in his hand. The faster he comes, the faster he’ll be out of Bucky’s hair.

Speaking of his hair, Rumlow’s hands are in his, pulling. It’s not like Sam pulls his hair, it hurts and Bucky’s cock couldn’t be more uninterested. He tries to distract himself by turning his attention to the cock he’s currently stroking to peak hardness. 

_Forgive me, Sam,_ he silently begs as he quickens his stroke.

“Fuck, Jay, _fuck,”_ Brock murmurs in his ear. 

He tries out his best porn star impersonation, “You like that, daddy?”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah,” the taller man groans. 

He’s close, Bucky can tell. He turns his wrist on the upstroke and a feels the cock jump in his hand as a familiar wetness eases his way. 

Rumlow bites his neck and he’s tempted to kick him in the balls but hat would surely result in a slow, painful death.

“Shit, I’m close, Jay.” He’s nearly out of breath now.

_Fucking come already then!_ Bucky screams internally. 

The silent command is fulfilled a few strokes later and _thank sweet baby Jesus,_ because Bucky’s sure his wrist is sprained or something. Maybe he can use that as his excuse for missing his shots at Sam tomorrow.

“Damn, boy,” Brock huffs as Bucky extricates his come-covered hand from the man’s pants and tries not to look disgusted. “You wanted that nut, huh?”

“Sure did.” Bucky’s sure that sounded lie sarcasm, but Brock is too blissed out to notice. 

He zips up his jeans, grabs his jacket and follows Bucky to the sink where he’s pouring a healthy amount of Dawn dish soap all over his hand. 

“I’ll see ya in the morning, Jay,” his commander says before kissing him on the cheek with those tobacco-coated lips. It’s as close to a ‘thank you’ as he’s ever gonna get. Not that he even wants one.

“See ya,” he manages through a fake smile, watching Rumlow exit his apartment. 

Bucky exhales as soon as he’s alone again and shuts the sink off. Sam doesn’t deserve this shit, but he needs the comfort now and he’s going to be selfish this time. He probably would have called the whole thing off if he’d had to suck Brock’s cock, but—_thank goodness for small miracles_—that didn’t happen. 

He grabs his phone off the kitchen island and texts Sam to let him know to come over, then he brushes the _hell_ out of his teeth, tongue, and lips before starting on breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think.
> 
> Viva la SamBucky!


End file.
